


The Art of Control

by vaughnicus



Series: Liber-Tea [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, Fluff, M/M, Shenanigans, Wall Sex, boss!enjolras, pike's place, rooftop smut, worker!amis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaughnicus/pseuds/vaughnicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is not having a good day, Grantaire is trying to make it better, and everyone else is going just a little more insane than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since I previously neglected to set this series anywhere because I was too indecisive about it, I've remedied that in this installment. I now have them based in Seattle, WA. 
> 
> This is also the first part of this series to have multiple chapters (but it should only be three, so don't worry).
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, and don't be afraid to tell me what you think.

            It was a normal morning in the Liber-Tea loft until Eponine stormed through the door in her usual careless fashion, a little pale and carrying a clipboard. She strode to Enjolras’ desk and stopped, lifting an impatient eyebrow when he didn’t look up and pointedly clearing her throat. He held up a finger, the movement shifting his body so that the cell phone at his ear was visible. Eponine fell silent, fidgeting.

            After a few moments, Enjolras sat back in his chair and gripped the hair at his temple. “Yes, of course, Ms. Trinz. I understand… We’ll welcome your patronage back anytime… Thank you. You, too.”

            He pulled the phone away from his ear with a sigh. “Combeferre, mark Ms. Trinz off our automatic shipping list. Joly! How’s that new chocolate blend?”

            “Er… having some balance problems.”

            “Get it fixed.” He turned to Eponine, who’d been waiting with surprising patience considering her entrance.

            “Sorry, Eponine. Challenging morning. What do you need?”

            “Right. So.” She straightened her shoulders, clutching the clipboard to her chest. “You know how I told you about that booth I snagged for you at Pike’s?”

            “Yes.”

            “And you know how I told you it was available on the 15th?”

            “Yes.”

            “Yeah, well. I might have, um… accidentally added the one.”

            There was a moment of quiet, Enjolras just staring at her. Then he sat up, leaned forward, and said very carefully, “run that by me again?”

            She set the clipboard on his desk. It held a few papers organizing their spot rental at Pike’s Place Market, including the cost of rent and their set-up date.

            “Yeah, it’s actually the fifth.”

            “ _What?_ ” Enjolras sprung up from his seat, snatching the clipboard as he went. “That’s _two days_ from now! I thought we had _twelve!_ We are nowhere _near_ ready! How could you possibly have made that mistake?!”

            “I’m sorry! I was going through our schedule and noticed the papers next to my desk and I brought them in as soon as I realized…”

            Enjolras growled and slammed the clipboard back onto his desk, turning around and bringing both hands to his forehead. The loft was silent as he took two breaths. When he turned to Eponine again, he was calm.

            “All right. Call whoever’s in charge and confirm our space and fees. But stay here for ease of communication. I know you prefer to work from home, but in light of the circumstances, I think you can give us a few favors.”

            Eponine nodded and headed for the corner.

            “Everyone stop what you’re doing.” Enjolras moved out from behind his desk into the center of the room. “Joly and Jehan – gather nine of our bestsellers and three each of your new ones. 30 bags of every blend. Combeferre, start working out equipment -  we need at least two hot water dispensers running at all times. And work out a fitting booth. And cups. Damn it. Bahorel and Courfeyrac, get started on bags. We’re going to need a lot.”

            All addressed immediately started following his orders, Joly and Jehan hurrying into their adjacent storage area to scrounge up the necessary teas.

            “And Grantaire.” Enjolras stepped to his last worker, who was scribbling away in a large sketchbook. He looked up as the blonde approached and grinned.

            “Yes, my Lord?”

            “This booth is going to need to look good – it’ll be the tipping point for us and needs to bring in more customers than we’ve ever had. They’re going to have to know what we’re about just from a glance.”

            “You mean we’re not eye-catching enough?” Grantaire set his book down and stood, coming close to Enjolras and running a hand lightly down his jaw. “Don’t worry, I have just the things.”

            “Good.”

            Grantaire’s hand moved to Enjolras’ shoulder and his smile dropped away as he squeezed.

            “God, you’re tense.”

            “Of _course_ I’m tense. I’ve just been told we have ten days less than I expected before a major event and we don’t-“

            Enjolras found himself unable to continue due to Grantaire’s lips on his. Lost for a moment, he let the painter rub warm hands over the nape of his neck, aching to melt into the sensation. But he came to his senses quickly and huffed into the kiss, causing Grantaire to break away with a laugh. He was delighted to see their fearless leader with a fiery blush.

            “Gran _taire._ We are at _work._ ”

            “Oh, hardly. Everyone here saw us in half-naked post-coital glory and cheered -  I don’t think this is going to bother them.”

            Begrudgingly conceding the point, Enjolras allowed himself to twist a hand into Grantaire’s curls and let his artist massage the muscles along his neck and shoulders. Almost instantly, half the tightness he hadn’t even been aware of was gone, and he sighed, holding back the seriously inappropriate groan that wanted to escape.

            “ _God,_ ” he whispered, and Grantaire’s lips twitched.

            For one fleeting moment, Enjolras entertained the idea of taking Grantaire home and letting everyone else fend for themselves. But of course, he could never do that to his team.

            He took a step back, taking in a deep breath. “Okay. Back to work.”

            Grantaire nodded obediently but didn’t yet move away, instead aiming a small smile towards Enjolras and saying, “just relax. You’ve got it under control.”

            For some inexplicable reason, the words calmed Enjolras’ mind. He pulled back his now-loose shoulders as he walked back to his desk.

            Yeah, everything would be fine. He’d been in way more stressful situations than this. He was collected.

            Until his phone rang. (His cell, which of course doubled as the company phone because he had no notion of separating his private and work life.)

            He answered it jovially enough – (“Enjolras speaking on behalf of Liber-Tea, how can I help you?”) – but as soon as the person on the other end of the line started speaking, his features sunk into a smoldering kind of anger.

            “I’m sorry to hear that. Please don’t hesitate to call us back if ever you change your… right. Can I ask why -  oh. Of course. Well, thank-“

            Apparently, the other end’s speaker disconnected. Enjolras tossed the phone onto a pile of papers, evidently shot past frustration again.

            “God _damnit,_ ” he snapped, drawing the attention of all their members at his uncharacteristic display of temper. “Who the _fuck_ is ‘Free With Leaves?!’”

            From his work table, Combeferre groaned. “Some hippie ‘activist’ group from the other side of town. Tea brewers like us. Young. They claim to give 100% of their profits to helping along world peace and hunger efforts, but most sources say it all goes to drugs, which then go into their teas. Popular with the elderly. Don’t tell me they’re who’s stealing our clients?”

            “Three regulars in two days! If it weren’t for Valjean we may as well be in the hole. And it’s due to some _frauds-?”_ Enjolras swiped at the nearest stack of papers, which incidentally happened to be the one with his iPhone laying on top. It fell to the ground, screen down, and hit with a resounding smack.

            And then Joly and Jehan came barreling in. Both looked panicked.

            “Enjolras!” Joly cried, hand in his hair. “We’re out of our top seller and the next shipment of bergamot isn’t due for a week!”

            Enjolras took in the statement without a word or blink, nodded, and then turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

            Jehan stared after him, absolutely mortified. “Oh God, Joly, you broke him!”

            While Combeferre pulled the two increasingly hysterical brewers aside to explain, Grantaire carefully picked Enjolras’ phone off the ground and followed in his Apollo’s tracks.

            Their leader wasn’t in view when Grantaire emerged from the loft, but the artist had an idea where he’d be, despite neither of them having met the other there before. It just seemed like the place a troubled God would go – high, above other mortal and their petty problems, nearer the clouds from whence he’d come.

            The door to the roof practically screamed when Grantaire opened it, and he winced, already sorry for disturbing the tentative peace of his lover’s temporary sanctuary.

            But Enjolras appeared to be wholly unaffected by the sound. He was standing across the way, braced against the barrier raised around the roof’s edge, tense and poised as though preparing for flight. Grantaire slipped the phone into his pocket and approached the perfect figure from behind, stepping up close and pushing both hands into Enjolras’ lower back. He began to knead out the tension there.

            They were silent for long minutes. It wasn’t until Grantaire had begun working on his shoulders (again) that Enjolras broke the hush.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be. Everyone has their off days and you lasted a hell of a lot longer and reacted a hell of a lot better than anyone else would have.”

            “Still, it was immature.” He turned to face Grantaire, who hadn’t stopped his therapeutic motions once. “I should go back.”

            “Trust me,” Grantaire said, aborting any motion to return with his firm grip on both upper arms, “no one expects you back soon. Just take a minute to chill out.”

            Enjolras sighed deeply, sinking onto the cold cement. It was unbelievably soothing against his overheated skin and he shivered at the cold relief. Grantaire had moved down with him and their legs were tangled together. Taking advantage of the position, Grantaire took hold of Enjolras’ calves and began massaging them, willing the tightness away. Minute by minute, the stressed blonde began to let go, and as Grantaire made his way past his knees, Enjolras let his head rest against the stone behind him.

            “So,” Grantaire said conversationally as he dug his fingers into Enjolras’ thighs, “want to tell me what’s really going on?”

            “I don’t know what you mean.”

            Grantaire smiled pleasantly. “Bullshit.” His kneading became ever so slightly more forceful. Enjolras shot him a glare and he only shrugged.

            Eventually, Enjolras looked away and shook his head.

            “My mother called last night.”

            “Aaand everything falls into place.” Grantaire smiled again, ruefully this time, still working away on Enjolras’ upper legs. “Sorry.”

            “It’s not your fault she’s an ignorant elitist.”

            “Nope. None of the rest of the shit today was my fault either. But…” And Grantaire stopped his ministrations, instead moving his hands the short distance to the top of Enjolras’ thighs and giving him a meaningful look. “I can help you get through the rest of it.”

            “No.” Enjolras was denying almost before the offer was given, pushing himself off the ground. “Absolutely not.”

            Grantaire didn’t let him get far, pulling him back down and sitting on his legs. “Wait. Just wait.”

            He said no more until Enjolras ceased his struggling and gave him  a supremely unimpressed look that had absolutely no effect.

            “Just listen for a minute.” Grantaire took a breath, drilling his gaze into Enjolras’ and trying to mimic his best debate pose. “The guys aren’t expecting us back – scratch that, they’re not _hoping_ for us back for at least half an hour. No one wants to deal with an even-more-uptight-than-normal Enjolras, no offense but you know it’s true. And contrary to popular belief, they do know what they’re doing. You hired them all for a reason, even if they are your friends. Second, you _need_ to relax or your productivity today will be nonexistent. And Enjolras… I’m literally sitting on top of you and can feel you getting hard, so don’t go all noble on me.”

            He could hardly finish his last statement thank to Enjolras shoving at him, but he held his position and when he leaned in for a kiss, Enjolras didn’t fight him.

            “I must admit,” Grantaire said as he slipped down to work at Enjolras’ button. “That was easier than expected.”

            “Stress does strange things to the mind,” Enjolras defended. “Besides, you seem to be under the false impression that I am incapable of doing anything daring with you in public. I intend to break that assumption.”

            Grantaire lifted both eyebrows as he pulled down Enjolras’ pants to mid-thigh. “In that case, this really doesn’t count as public. No one around.”

            Enjolras’ rebuttal died on his lips as Grantaire got a hand under his remaining waistband and took a hold of his length. With deliberate laziness, Grantaire pulled his briefs out of the way and took the head of their oh-so-distressed boss’s cock into his mouth.

            Enjolras pulled in a stuttering breath, one hand creeping up to weave into Grantaire’s curls. The painter stayed motionless, licking skillfully over his slit and shaft until Enjolras was huffing in frustration.

            “We don’t have all day, Grantaire.”

            The addressed would have grinned were his lips not otherwise occupied. As it is, he instead slid forward, taking Enjolras fully into his mouth.

            The blond gasped harshly, arching his back against the cement behind him. Grantaire licked up his underside and he groaned, hips jerking involuntarily.

            “ _R_.”

            Grantaire grabbed his waist, pressing it into the ground (or rather, the roof) while he sucked until his cheeks were concaved as an hourglass, but he did not move. Enjolras was gripping his hair in both hands now, cheeks frightfully red.

            “I thought the point was to _relax_ me,” he gritted.

            At that, Grantaire pulled off completely, though he stayed dangerously close, close enough that Enjolras could feel every wisp of air that escaped when he whispered, “so _relax._ ”

            And he took him in his mouth again, this time with his hands off of Enjolras hips. But before he could even think of moving, Grantaire was, pulling along his shaft with a frankly ridiculous amount of suction and friction, then bobbing back down again. He picked up the pace with every pass, replacing his hands on Enjolras’ hips so he could stroke at the strong bones there.

            Enjolras was gasping, bitten-off moans twisting through his breaths as the tightness in his center grew. He tugged on Grantaire’s hair to relay the message his lips couldn’t, and in answer the painter took him in deeper than before.

            The tight heat and sudden softness that was _holy shit_ the back of Grantaire’s throat tipped him over the edge. He came almost harshly, hands still tangled in Grantaire’s sweaty hair, seeing stars as his partner swallowed.

            Grantaire pulled away somewhere on the way down from his high and got his clothes back on properly. He lay boneless against the wall.

            “I may have to give this one to you,” he confessed. “I am quite relaxed.”

            “Told ya.”

            “Mind you, this will not become a regular… thing.”

            “’Course not, Mr. Sexually Daring.”

            “Shut up and come here.”

            Grantaire did as told, shuffling over to sit beside Enjolras in the same position: back against the barrier to certain death, feet out in front of him. As soon as he was settled Enjolras reached over and palmed his still very prominent erection. Grantaire groaned and slid further down in his slouch, helping the other man to undo his jeans.

            “You take such good care of me.”

            “I could say the same.”

            Enjolras moved aside the material of Grantaire’s jeans and boxers, getting a hand loosely around his erection and smiling at the way it caused Grantaire’s face to turn into his neck. The man’s cheeks were already heated, his breaths puffing shortly onto Enjolras’ clavicle.

            It didn’t take long for them to find the artist’s release, bothered as he had been. And as it turned out, that was a good thing. As soon as Enjolras had cleaned up with a handkerchief (that he’d produced from nowhere and really who has those anymore but Grantaire wasn’t complaining) and gotten Grantaire’s pants done up again, Jehan had poked his head out the door leading onto the roof.

            He took in Enjolras’ blush and Grantaire’s blissed-out expression and grinned all too brightly.

            “Oh! Sorry! We just wanted to make sure you hadn’t decapitated Grantaire and thrown his body off the roof but I see that’s not a problem. I’ll tell the others you’ll be a few minutes!”

            He was gone before Enjolras could say a word.

            “Well,” he sighed.  “We should go back.”

            “I can’t move,” Grantaire replied, turning further into Enjolras neck. The blonde huffed in amusement and pulled away, grabbing Grantaire’s hand and tugging.

            “Don’t lie to me. You wouldn’t want to undo all of your hard work now.”

            Grantaire reluctantly stood and followed Enjolras back through the door and down the short flight of stairs that led to their hallway. They hesitated outside the loft, looking each other over for anything too out of place.

            Grantaire noticed Enjolras glancing anxiously at the door and quirked a fond smile. He briefly slipped a hand around the blonde’s wrist.

            “C’mon. The losers inside need their fearless leader.”

                       


	2. How to Get Into A Revolutionary's Pants 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything comes together and Enjolras has an unexpected reaction to Grantaire's secret.

         

* * *

 

 

  When Enjolras and Grantaire stepped inside the loft, everyone was doing a very good job of looking like they weren’t paying attention to them. Enjolras straightened his jacket and strode over to Joly’s work table.

            “So have you figured out that bergamot issue?”

            “Yes!” Joly replied enthusiastically. And then slightly less so: “or well, just about. We found a hidden stash in Jehan’s piles that’ll make about twenty bags. We called my herbalist and she’s going to let us pick a couple pounds up early. She’s got to get it together but by the time the stash runs out we’ll have been down to get more.”  
            Enjolras nodded, visibly pleased. “Good work.” He turned to the corner and cocked his head. “Eponine?”

            She drew herself up, consulting her clipboard. “Dates and fees are on your desk; they’re static. Location: top level, east corner. Spot number 72.”

            “Thank you. Combeferre?”

            “I’ve got two hot pots waiting for us at that kitchen store down the street. We still have a stockpile of those recycled disposable cups from our last event. As for a booth, Bahorel says his father is a carpenter and can have us a temporary one by tomorrow and a more permanent structure in a week or two.”

            Enjolras flashed Bahorel a grateful smile as he passed him on the way to his desk. “That’s great. Good job, guys, we’re pulling this together.”

            He finally sat down, gathering the papers Eponine had put at his desk and skimming through them. Grantaire approached and leaned casually against the surface.    

            “And how about you, then?” Enjolras prompted. “What’s this ‘perfect thing’ you have hidden away?”

            “Can’t tell you,” Grantaire chirped, smirking when Enjolras’ head snapped up. “Have to show you. After work. In my studio.” He straightened up and winked. “Trust me. Now. I’m going to get us some lunch.” He turned to the rest of the busy group, raising his voice. “I was thinking Mexican?”

            The cheers that assailed him were answer enough.

 

* * *

 

            Ever single person stayed late that night, working away. Their positions stopped mattering at about six when Courfeyrac offered to help Jehan with sorting his blends and Eponine enlisted Grantaire to assist her with a series of phone calls.

            By the time 9 o’clock rolled around, Enjolras realized that nothing much more was going to be done today. Courf kept tossing rejected ingredients at Bahorel, Grantaire was drawing a far-too-sensual pixie on Jehan’s forearm, and even Combeferre was distracted by a word game he’d found on his desk.

            Huffing quietly to himself in fond amusement, Enjolras stood, rolling his shoulders and smiling as everyone swiveled to look at him.

            “Good work today, guys. It’s safe to say you’ve all done more than enough and we’re going to be ready to grow by Friday.”

            “Hear, hear!” Courfeyrac shouted, prompting a burst of celebratory noise from the rest of them.

            They all quickly tucked everything away and swept out the door, converging in the hallway while Enjolras locked the loft.

            “So, I’m thinking Twig’s,” Eponine said once they were all fairly quiet. “I am in desperate need of  a sticky cookie.”

            There was a general swell of consent as the group made its way down through the stairwell and out to their cars. Enjolras and Grantaire hung back, exchanging a glance. Enjolras stepped up and caught Combeferre’s shoulder before he could climb into Courfeyrac’s car.

            “Hey, Grantaire and I still have some things to work out for Friday. Give everyone our apologies?”

            Combeferre nodded. “Of course.”

            “Thanks, ‘Ferre. Have fun.”

            With a lazy salute, Combeferre fitted himself into Courf’s beat up old Mercedes. Jehan peered at him over the passenger seat.

            “What’d he say?”

            “He and Grantaire can’t come. Apparently they still have things to “work out” for Friday.”

            Beside him, Eponine laughed. “Their excuses are never going to get any better, are they?”

            “I don’t know. I think they actually have some business to attend to,” Combeferre defended. “Grantaire apparently has something for the booth.”

            “Oh, so he’s showing him a painting. Yeah, because that takes all night,” Eponine returned wryly, and Combeferre flushed a little.

            “Well,” he persevered, “it’s not like they don’t deserve some time.”

            “That’s true,” Jehan piped up. “They’ve both been working hard. I’ve never seen Grantaire so motivated before.” He tilted his head contemplatively. “But despite their business, they’re both so happy. Did you see how many times Enjolras smiled today?”

            Combeferre just nodded, though his eyes were warm. “It’s quite remarkable.”

 

* * *

 

            “Little farther down Fourth. It’s just past my apartment.”

            “Have I really never been to your studio before?”

            Grantaire slouched in his seat, staring at the lights swishing past and the space needle over to the left, towering brightly in the darkness.

            “Hardly anyone has. It’s not really somewhere I invite people.”

            Enjolras glanced at him, depressing the brake as he turned onto 4th. “Are you sure..?”

            “Yes. Don’t be ridiculous.”

            Grantaire laughed self-consciously and then gestured to a remarkably open parking spot on the street. “Right here. It’s in the next building upstairs.”

            Enjolras parked the car and got out, staring up at the surprisingly classy structure they were entering. It was old but well-kept, boasting its history instead of trying to hide it.

            Grantaire led the way into the large, open lobby, nodding to the caretaker in greeting, and into the elevator, hitting the button for the seventh and top floor.

            “Have you got a secret penthouse?” Enjolras needled, and Grantaire only grinned.

            They ended up in front of room 714, Grantaire shooting Enjolras a glance before letting them in.

            Enjolras gasped before the lights even came on. Huge panel glass windows spread across the far wall, displaying a breathtaking view of the city at night, and then Grantaire flicked on the lights (which, aside from a few soft lamps over some easels, consisted entirely of stringed LEDs hung artfully from the ceiling), and Enjolras froze in his tracks, struck to stone by the works of art before him.

            The main portion of the spacious room was taken up by five large easels, each holding a painting that were clearly all part of the same series. They were all done in shades of jet black, stark white, and bright, bright red. But even more shocking than the colors used were the scenes each painting depicted.

            The first was a snapshot of a firing squad aiming their guns at a girl with fiery red hair and defiant eyes.

            The next showed the interior of a dark house. A frail woman hunched over her two children while a burly man with a bottle in his hand drew near.

            Beside that was a brutal alleyway scene wherein one gang of people beat a young man half to death while his frantic male partner was held back.

            _Hate crime,_ Enjolras thought, feeling sick as it hit a little too close to home.

            A starving, orphaned child in the snow.

            A bloody revolution in the streets.

            Everyone they were fighting for; everything they’d risen up against.

            Enjolras found himself unable to move, stuck staring at the paintings as the stories they told played out in his head. He was taken aback not only by the skill with which they were created (he’d always known how talented Grantaire was), but at the passion that went into them.

            “I, um.” Grantaire cleared his throat , shifting his weight. “There’s one more that isn’t set up. It’s not really a part of the series; I thought maybe we could use it as the booth sign, you know? Or something.”

            It took a moment for Enjolras to drag his stare away from the paintings and onto the artist.

            “Show me.”

            He meant to sound earnest but it may have come out a little more commanding. Grantaire blinked at him for a moment before walking over to the side of the room. There was a long, rectangular shape leaning against the wall that was covered with an oversized cloth. Grantaire flicked on a set of overhead lights and carefully pulled the material away.

            Enjolras stepped over to the long, mural-like painting in something of a daze.

            It was an entire story laid out on canvas. Unlike the series, this one was done in full color, richly and explicitly detailed. The far left side portrayed a scene of despair - people huddled in the streets, cowering under the shadow of an imposing group of black-robed men. One at the front was gripping a gavel, smiling in a feral way.

            That scene led smoothly into the next one in the middle, wherein a group of young men and women were surrounding the enemy, each member holding out a different “weapon” – an African girl with a tribal drum, a small blonde boy with a red flower, a willowy ginger that looked suspiciously like Jehan with a pen.

            Under their piercingly passive assault, the robed men were falling to their knees, the leader’s gavel melting into chains that bound his hands.

            Past that gathering, the peaceful revolutionaries were leading the formerly oppressed from their dark corners into a better world; an open one depicted by wide, brightly lit town squares draped with flags and full of dancing.

            Enjolras took a step back from the breathtaking masterpiece, feeling his throat tighten. Fire fizzled in his chest, belief kicked into high gear at the nothing less than inspiring picture before him.

            Completely unaware of the upheaval he’d caused. Grantaire cleared his throat, absently picking up a paintbrush to fiddle with.

            “This one’s not quite done – that’s why it looks so rough. But I’ll have it finished by Friday.” He got no reply from Enjolras and bit his lip. “I know it’s a little…. Melodramatic, but that’s what I always picture when you talk about freedom and revolution, and… I just.” He scratched his neck, brow furrowed. “Do you like it?”

            Finally, Enjolras’ trance broke as Grantaire’s question filtered into his hearing. He blinked, turning to look at the artist incredulously. Grantaire shuffled, unsure, and Enjolras wanted to laugh at the outright ridiculousness of the painter thinking his work was anything less than magnificent. So instead of using any words to reassure him, Enjolras, still caught up in a fiery rush of passion, closed the distance between them in two strides and brought them together in an almost violent kiss.

            Grantaire, shocked, was momentarily frozen as he was gripped tightly and gifted with one of his longest-running fantasies brought to life. But the surprise quickly gave way to a forceful surge of heat, and he dropped his paintbrush so as to wrap both arms around Enjolras, gasping when the aforementioned turned to shove him up against the wall. Then hands were in his hair and a tongue was battling to get down his throat and Grantaire was entirely sure he was dreaming.

            Enjolras finally broke their lips apart for a moment, leaving them both panting. He stayed pressed against Grantaire as he braced himself against the wall, caging the artist in his arms.

            “I guess… you like it, then?”

            “Grantaire, it’s _incredible…_ It’s really what you imagine when I talk?”

            “Well, yeah. With all your speeches of freeing the people from oppression…”

            Enjolras huffed disbelievingly, gaze alight. “I thought you didn’t believe in anything.”

            Grantaire briefly shut his eyes, battling for control even while the situation threatened to overwhelm him.

            “I didn’t used to… I’m starting to, maybe… Now. But you have to know, Enjolras, that I _always_ believed in you.”

            With that, they were lost again. Enjolras descended on him as if he were the fucking Constitution rewritten. He was undressing them in seconds, pausing only to retrieve a foil packet from Grantaire’s wallet before tossing it away with the rest of their things.

            Grantaire made a move for the small mattress in the corner, but Enjolras stopped him, keeping him pressed up against the wall as he tore the packet open and smeared its contents onto his hand.

            “Turn around.”

            Grantaire was quick to comply, eyes widening as Enjolras wasted no time with foreplay and biting his lip to keep from cutting this off embarrassingly early. Enjolras had hardly gotten two fingers comfortably in before Grantaire was groaning, hand curling against the wall.

            “Oh my God, Enjolras, if you want to finish this right do it because I am _not_ going to last.”

            Not even bothering to confirm, Enjolras pulled out and physically turned Grantaire around, pouring the rest of the lube over himself. He took a moment to press another heated kiss to Grantaire’s lips before hooking both hands under the painter’s knees and lifting, hitching them around his waist.

            Despite their lack of preparation, he slid in smoothly. He began moving almost immediately, shallow little thrusts that had them both trembling. Grantaire clutched helplessly at his neck, forearms tense as he levered himself higher with his legs, forcing Enjolras to deepen his movements.

            And he did and _shit,_ maybe Grantaire should’ve thought that one through, because Enjolras managed to drive right into that _one spot_ and okay, he could not be held responsible for the noise that came out of his mouth.

            They both held out longer than they expected, though it was much shorter than it would’ve been under different circumstances. The atmosphere was just too charged and the angle too good.

            Still, Enjolras’ orgasm took them both by surprise. His hips stuttered mid-thrust and he just managed to slide himself fully in before he was coming, fingers gripping Grantaire’s legs so tight there’d undoubtedly be bruises; gaze locked onto the artist’s, and they’d both only realize afterwards how much outright affection had been in that look.

            After that his legs could no longer hold them up, and he guided them both to the floor until he was sitting back on his knees with Grantaire in his lap. He reached between them and stroked Grantaire to his own finish, holding him tight while the cynic repeatedly gasped his name.

            They stayed there for a minute in the aftermath, wilted against the wall. Enjolras finally managed to get his limbs in order and pulled away briefly, sauntering to the bathroom to retrieve a damp cloth. Grantaire dragged himself to the mattress in the meantime, smiling lazily at Enjolras as he returned.

            “If I had known that was how you were going to react, I’d have brought you here ages ago.”

            For the first time that night Enjolras seemed to return to a more normal plane of humanity, and a faint blush made its way across his cheeks.

            “I apologize for my forcefulness. But… these paintings – they represent everything we believe in, and I wasn’t prepared for the passion with which you made them.”

            “Oh, don’t apologize,” Grantaire laughed. “I can now cross ‘hot violent wall sex’ off my bucket list.” He turned onto his stomach, letting Enjolras drag the towel gently over him. “Seriously, though. _Damn._ I need to paint more flags.”

            Enjolras dropped the towel onto the floor and laid next to Grantaire, tugging the thin sheet up to cover them both. He turned onto his side, about to say something when the electronic strains of a generic phone alert stopped him. Lifting an eyebrow, he snatched his pants from where they’d been discarded by a box of paints and dug his phone out from a pocket.

 

            **Combeferre** 10:12 PM

            so what did grantaire have for you?

 

            Grantaire read the message over his shoulder and snorted. “Is he _trying_ to be sexual?”

 

            **Enjolras** 10:13 PM

Paintings for the booth. Wait til you see them – they’re incredible.

 

            “You and your grammar.”

 

            **Combeferre** 10:16 PM

            can’t wait. i’m glad your night went well. ours got a little… interesting.

 

            **Enjolras** 10:17 PM

            That doesn’t sound good. What happened?

 

            **Combeferre** 10:19 PM

             joly accidentally ate out of eponine’s bowl.

 

            **Enjolras** 10:20 PM

Oh, God. Are you at the hospital?

 

            Grantaire chuckled, turning into Enjolras’ shoulder. “Not too broken up about missing that one.”

            Enjolras shook his head.

 

            **Combeferre** 10:24 PM

            managed to convince him that wasn’t necessary. courf had to drive us all to the store so he could buy copious amounts of mouthwash, though. downside to carpooling.

 

            **Combeferre** 10:24 PM

            did u & grantaire have fun w/ his paints? ;) ;)

 

            Enjolras stared at his phone, puzzled to say the least. Grantaire nearly choked on his own saliva.

 

            **Combeferre** 10:24 PM

            i bet u’ll never see his paintbrush the same way again

 

            **Combeferre** 10:25PM

            good thing he has tarps down

            how was the view????

 

**Combeferre** 10: 26 PM

DETAIL SMKD 22

 

            **Combeferre** 10:26 PM

            GODAMMIT Courfeyrac stole my

            VIVE LA INTERCOURSE!!1

 

            **Combeferre** 10:27 PM

            tell us how he raised ur flag

 

            Grantaire at this point was in absolute stitches, gasping hopelessly at Courf’s messages. Enjolras was only slightly more controlled, looking fixedly at his phone with red cheeks and a deep smirk.

            There was a minute of worrisome silence, during which Grantaire managed to catch his breath. Enjolras could only imagine what was happening at the other side of their ‘conversation.’

            Then, finally:

 

            **Combeferre** 10:33 PM

            i will kill him.

 

            **Combeferre** 10:33 PM

            i am so sorry.

            they will never find the body.

           

            Enjolras couldn’t withhold a laugh at that, and he was almost grinning as he tapped out his reply.

           

            **Enjolras** 10:34 PM

            Don’t worry about it. Sounds like you’re having fun. But I’m afraid we’re a bit worn out on this end.

           

            **Combeferre** 10:34 PM

            oh, of course. good night!

           

**Enjolras** 10:35 PM

            Good night, Combeferre.

           

            And then, almost as an afterthought:

 

            **Enjolras** 10:36 PM

            Tell Courfeyrac he wishes he were this good.

           

            Enjolras lay back to sleep with Grantaire’s delighted laugher ringing through the studio. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never had a sticky cookie from Twig's, your life is incomplete. 
> 
> Also, I don't know if I've ever had so much fun writing a chapter before, so I hope you all enjoyed it as much as me. :)


	3. Profits and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If unexpected things like keep popping up, they're all going to go crazy, but at least now they can go there with fame and cream puffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY WOW this got really long. Like, considerably longer than the other two chapters put together. So hopefully that makes up for the delay?

* * *

 

 

When Enjolras entered the loft the next morning, it was to Courfeyrac’s loud shout of, “you animal!”

            He withheld a snort and headed for his desk, ignoring the other man’s glare.

            “Do you know what you did to me? Do you know?” Enjolras still gave no response so Courf instead turned to a very amused Grantaire. “Your man is a fiend. He tries to act innocent but we all know the truth now.”

            Laughing, Grantaire slipped past Courfeyrac and perched on the edge of Enjolras’ desk. “Do you know what he’s talking about, dear?”

            “I haven’t the slightest,” the blonde replied loftily, not looking away from his papers. “Anything I’ve said was only the unvarnished truth.”

            Courfeyrac clutched at his chest. “God in heaven. Who are you and what have you done with our leader?”

            “Don’t you have work to do?” Enjolras asked pointedly, finally looking towards Courf to pin him with a stare.

            “Ah, that’s more like it.”

            The joker looked genuinely relieved as he headed over to his work station.

            Combeferre watched the proceedings with a keen eye and waited until Grantaire had blown a kiss to Enjolras and retreated to his end of the loft to pick up his phone.

 

                        **Combeferre** 9:08 AM

                        i ask this purely in the name of psychology because i have known you for  
                        9 years and never seen you this relaxed the day before a huge event so

                        what happened last night?

 

            He went studiously back to work after hitting send, absolutely not watching his friend out of the corner of his eye. So he didn’t see Enjolras pick up the phone and look entirely too abashed after reading the message, and he didn’t see the same person glance what could only be described as happily at the artist in the corner. And he definitely didn’t have to hold his breath when he didn’t see Enjolras entering a response.

            But he might have jumped a little when said response reached him with a buzz and he realized he was still gripping his phone in his hand.    

            Okay, so studiously may not have been the best term.

 

                        **Enjolras** 9:09 AM

                        Grantaire showed me his studio. The paintings for the  
                        booth really are astounding.

 

            Combeferre bit his lip as he drafted a reply. Hey, all those years of friendship deserved some information, didn’t they?

 

                        **Combeferre** 9:09 AM

                        so you’re just relieved everything’s ready, is that all?

 

            The reply to that took a little longer, both due to Enjolras’ workload and, Combeferre suspected, his indecision on what to share. So he actually did start working this time, almost missing the next vibration on  his phone but seeing it light up and snatching it over.

                       

                        **Enjolras** 9:16 AM

                        Well, yes. Though I suppose part of my mood may be attributed  
                        to last night’s other activities. I may have gotten slightly carried  
                        away.

           

            Combeferre really hoped Enjolras wasn’t looking over at this point, because he was fairly certain he was smiling like an idiot.

                       

                        **Combeferre** 9:17 AM

                        you? carried away? damn, enj. that’s my boy.

 

                        **Combeferre** 9:17 AM

                        but really. i’m happy. for both of you.

 

                        **Enjolras** 9:19 AM

                        I know, Ferre. Thank you.

 

           

            They actually finished up a little earlier that day due to their abundance of work the day before and were all cleaning up by six.

            “All right, people, tomorrow’s the day. We are all meeting at our Pike’s location at 7 AM sharp. Bahorel and I will be there by then with our booth. Grantaire, if it’s all right with you I was going to send Combeferre to help you with your paintings.”

            “Yeah, of course.”

            “Great. Now, unless anyone else has an announcement…? 

            There was no response to that so Enjolras ushered them all towards the door. He sidled up next to Grantaire, who’d been hanging back behind the rush for him.

            “You’ll have to text Combeferre your address. Or I can. Are you sure you’re all right with this?”

            Grantaire shot him a longsuffering look. “When I said my studio wasn’t a place I took many people, I didn’t mean it’s my fortress of solitude. I just haven’t had the right people to show it.”

            Looking placated and a little warmed, Enjolras nodded. “Okay. Good. Oh, I’d meant to ask you – not that it’s my business, but how do you pay for that? You have an apartment, too, and I know I don’t pay any of us enough to sustain both places.”

            “Right, that. It’s actually a cool story – I had a show a few years ago and this older woman really liked my work. She bought the majority of my paintings there so we got to talking and I somehow mentioned that I’d sort of ruined my apartment because that’s the only space I had and she freaked out a little bit. She took it upon herself to find a really nice place and told me she’d pay for it completely if I’d make her a few pieces every month and deliver them in person. We usually end up discussing the local art scene – she’s very involved – and sometimes she lets me bake for her. It’s – it’s nice.”

            As he finished explaining, he seemed to come back to himself and looked around, realizing they were outside walking around the block. A light drizzle kicked up as he glanced towards the bright May pre-sunset.

            “I had no idea. She sounds lovely.” Enjolras was looking at him with a strange expression stuck somewhere between proud, questioning, and stoic. “What’s her name?”

            “Desdemona,” Grantaire answered, clearly fond of the name and the person behind it. “Like the Othello character, she always says. She’s very proud of that fact.” His face lit up then. “She’d love to meet you.”

            “She knows about me?” Enjolras queried, not unkindly.

            But when Grantaire looked away, scratching his neck, his curiosity piqued.

            “Not exactly,” the painter admitted, glancing briefly at him before breaking eye contact again. “But she, um… she may have a few paintings of you.”

            “What?” Enjolras asked, genuinely bemused. “You painted me and sold it?”

            “Them,” Grantaire meekly corrected. “If it makes any difference, I told her they’re of Apollo.”

            “Oh, wonderful. Now I get to break the illusion.”

            “Don’t be stupid. You couldn’t. Besides, I think she’s always known they’re based on a person. She’s always giving me these… looks whenever I talk about them, or bring a new one over. In fact, she’s been requesting more lately; I think she may have been trying to send me a message.”

            Enjolras took his hand then, watching the setting sun with a soft look.

            “Then she’ll be pleased to hear that it’s finally been received loud and clear.”

            “You’ll come, then?” Grantaire’s eyes were bright with hope and Enjolras only then realized just how much this woman must mean to him. Aside from Liber-Tea, she must be the only constant in his life, and having no blood relations to speak of… well.

            “Of course. Once all of our booth business is settled I would love to meet her.”

            They walked in content silence a few minutes more, heading back to the car. And then something Grantaire had said dropped back into Enjolras’ mind and he stopped, looking a little gob smacked.

            “Wait a minute... You have art shows?”

 

* * *

 

            It was early the next morning that Grantaire was startled out of his concentration by a knock on the door. He had been sitting with his sketchbook for the better part of an hour after Enjolras had left and he’d come to his studio to meet Combeferre. He’d taken the time to work on a new logo for the organization, but he couldn’t seem to get it right. Everything he came up with was either overdone or too commercialized.

            He opened the door to reveal Combeferre waiting with a genial smile.

            “Good morning, Grantaire.”

            “Morning, Combeferre. Come in. I’d offer coffee, but my studio doesn’t have a kitchen and I drank my entire thermos.”

            Combeferre chuckled. “That’s all right. I stopped by a stand on the way. So, show me which ones we need and we’ll figure out transport. I’ve got a truck with a covered back waiting outside, but I really had no idea how much room we’d need.”

            “Right. Um… we can probably manage with just the truck. The biggest one is up there against the wall, and it’s, uh, only 4 foot by 1.5. The other are all 3 by 1.”

            Combeferre nodded, stepping up to examine the paintings that had Enjolras so fired up. And seeing them for himself, it was obvious why. He turned to Grantaire, brows high.

            “Enjolras wasn’t exaggerating. You’ve really outdone yourself, friend. These are unbelievable.”

            “Thank you,” Grantaire said, cheeks a bit heated. “I’m just glad they work. I’ve been working on them for ages and know I really shouldn’t have kept them from you guys, but I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.” As he went on he was removing the pieces from their easels and arranging them by the door. Combeferre assisted after watching him a moment, and soon they were all awaiting delivery. Grantaire stood by them, hands on his hips. “There aren’t many days I regret a studio on the top floor, but this is one of them.”

            Combeferre huffed in amusement. “Well, at least there’s an elevator. If one of us takes two of the smaller ones and the other takes three this trip, we can both come back up for the big one.”

            The frames were a little bulky, but made of only stretched canvas and wood, so they didn’t weigh much. The two made their way into the elevator and Grantaire pushed the button for the first floor before leaning casually against the railings, paintings propped against his legs. He threw a smirk to Combeferre.

            “I don’t suppose this is the part where you tell me to be careful with Enjolras because he seems stoic but is liable to heartbreak at any time, and if I ever betray his trust you’ll murder me with your high-level mind powers?”  
            Combeferre lifted an eyebrow at him as the elevator dinged past the second floor.

            “On the contrary, Grantaire. No offense to either of you, but I’m fairly certain that asking you not to hurt Enjolras is equivalent to asking a child not to drown the kitten they just found in a rainstorm.”

            Grantaire snorted at the comparison. “No offense taken, because you’re right. I couldn’t intentionally hurt that bastard if I wanted to.”

            “That said, Grantaire,” Combeferre continued as they exited the lobby and he popped open the back of the truck. “You do have to be careful. Not to keep Enjolras safe, but to keep yourself that way.” He placed the paintings they’d been carrying in the truck and turned to face the artist, looking a little bit like a wizened old librarian with his stern features and wire-rimmed glasses.

            “I’ve known Enjolras for nine years, so I know how hard he is to deal with. Don’t get me wrong, I consider him my closest friend and brother, but there are times even I want to send him off to Madagascar. My point it, as you well know, that social niceties and romantic norms are not his strong suit. He gets into stages when you have to discount everything he says because he honestly doesn’t know he’s saying it. It’s past focus, it’s…” He sighed. “Listen, Grantaire. That old adage about opposites attracting one another? It’s clearly based on truth, as evidenced by you and Enjolras. And while that’s wonderful and you balance each other out quite skillfully, there are some downsides to it. You’re creative. You’re an artist. You’re right brained, and scientifically that means you feel more acutely than those who are left brained, like Enjolras. It’s hard enough for him to express how he feels as it is, and considering you’re the first serious romantic relationship he’s actively pursued, he’s going to be even more clueless than normal.”

            Combeferre paused, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose with a short exhale.

            “I know I’m long-winded, but I just need you to understand.” He replaced his glasses and placed a firm hand on a shell-shocked Grantaire’s shoulder, setting soulful gray eyes on his. “He’s going to hurt you, Grantaire. It will be unintentional and he will be sorry but it’s going to happen. And you have to be able to forgive him, because he really does care about you; I can promise you that. He cares about you a hell of a lot.”

            Pale with all he’d heard, Grantaire could only nod. He swallowed and we his lips, scrubbing a hand through his hair and finally managing a hoarse, “okay. Yeah, o-okay.”

            Despite his less than eloquent response, Combeferre must have seen what he was looking for in Grantaire’s gaze, because he nodded and withdrew his hand.

            “All right, then. Good.” He turned to head back into the building, shedding his somber air as though it had never made an appearance. “I hate to be such a harbinger of death. You must know I’m very happy to see Enjolras finally acting on his feelings, and you so joyfully involved in a healthy relationship.”

            “So, about those feelings…” Grantaire remarked, still shaking off his fog of shock. “How long has he had those, exactly?”

            Combeferre gave him a knowing glance, lips twitching. “Well, he came to me about them three weeks after we’d met you, which means he’s had them about since he first saw you. Not so strongly as now, of course, but he was at least initially physically attracted to you.”

            Grantaire fell back against the wall of the now-ascending elevator, letting out a low whistle.

            “Damn,” he breathed. “The man has a funny way of showing his affection.”

            “It confused him, to be honest. He hadn’t felt any sort of strong attraction in ages and when it came about for a drunk painter who criticized everything he stood for it threw him off, to say the least.”

            They entered the hallway to the studio and Combeferre waited while Grantaire fished out his key.

            “He worried about you, you know. Whenever you’d come into work even more drunk than normal, or sit there with a blank sketchbook and have to ask for ideas. He never voiced his concerns but they were clearly there.”

            Grantaire let them in and they each hefted an end of the last painting, angling it so they could fit through the door.

            “The only time I’ve seen his as relieved as when you stopped drinking was when the state legalized same-sex marriage.”

            “Really?” Grantaire tipped his head at the mention of the controversial passed law. “I mean… obviously he’d be all for it, but Enjolras isn’t really the type to share his personal matters, despite his openness and passion about his beliefs. Nor does he come across as the type to desire marriage. At least, not for a long, long time.”

            Combeferre only smiled. “Again, he never explicitly voiced any sort of hope or relief, but if you knew him at all you noticed his agitation in the weeks leading up to the decision and his mellowness in the weeks following. I am not sure even Enjolras was aware of his reactions, but the fact remains that they occurred.” He eyed Grantaire, head cocked curiously and almost mischievously.

            “Take from that what you will.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Enjolras had arrived at Bahorel’s at an ungodly hour and the latter had grumbled a bit while making coffee before showing Enjolras to the garage that held the pieces of their booth. They were now wrestling the wooden planks into Bahorel’s pickup, Enjolras glancing at his watch every few minutes.

            “Enjolras,” Bahorel finally said, leaning the piece of material he’d been moving against the wall. “You got here at six. This has hardly taken any time at all, and the Market is literally twelve minutes away in bad traffic, and you told everyone else to be there at 7. We’re fine.”

            “Of course,” Enjolras returned, lowering his timepiece. “I just… want to get there early so we’re for sure the first ones.”

            “We will be. Relax.”

            Enjolras let out a breath, deliberately twisting his watch face away from him. Stressing out wouldn’t do any good.

            “Sorry.”

            “Hey, don’t apologize,” Bahorel said, hefting the last piece of wood into his truck while Enjolras placed a bucket of screws in his car’s front seat. “We all know how important this is.” Bahorel slammed shut the booth of the truck and opened the driver’s door, swinging in behind the wheel. “I’ll follow you.”

 

* * *

 

 

            They did end up reaching the market before everyone else and were nearly finished with constructing the booth when Combeferre and Grantaire arrived. They had to park a ways  down the street and were using the same method as that morning to move the paintings.

            Luckily, their shop area was near the street so the walk wasn’t too tedious.

            Bahorel saw them first and shouted a greeting, causing Enjolras to look up. He spotted them and waved them over without so much as a ‘hello,’ causing the two to exchange an amused glance. They stepped quickly through the gathering early bird crowd to the almost-finished stand, surveying it with approving looks.

            “Your dad is quick,” Grantaire commended, running a hand over their countertop after setting his paintings on it.

            “Yeah, well this one is a really simple design. He’s done stuff like this dozens of times. We’ll have a much nicer one within the next week or so.”

            “Take him some of our product when you leave,” Combeferre suggested. “As a thank you while we arrange payment.”

            Bahorel waved him off. “I’ll take him the tea, but he’s not charging us for anything. He knows what we do and considers this his part to help.”

            “And a very significant help it is,” Enjolras confirmed, emerging from where he’d been checking over the base screws. “He has our undying gratitude.”

            “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

            Enjolras clapped Bahorel on the back as he passed him on his way to Grantaire and Combeferre.

            “Morning. Again,” Grantaire greeted happily, darting in to press a quick kiss to Enjolras cheek just because he could. “Booth looks nice. Where should we put these?” He gestured to the paintings currently stacked on the counter.

            Enjolras swept a hand through his hair, briefly flattening the curls with his fingers before they sprang into place again.

            “Um. We have extra screws. You can hang those five on the sides and then when you bring the bigger one we’ll put it up top.”

            Grantaire nodded just as a shout of “Enjolras!” prompted all gathered to turn. Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Joly were headed towards them, all flushed with excitement. (Okay, well, Joly may have been a little flustered from the crowd, but he was still happy to be there, for the most part). They reached the booth ad stopped to take it in. Courfeyrac whistled.

            “This is great! Bahorel, your father is a magician. And Grantaire! Are those what you’ve been hiding from us? Jesus. What are you? Not human, I can tell you that.”

            Grantaire laughed. “And you haven’t even seen the best one.”

            “There’s another? Where?”

            Combeferre stepped forward. “Still in the truck. We couldn’t carry it with the two of us. You can help. And Jehan, could you come to help with the pots and cups? The rest of you stay here to finish initial setup.”

            “Am I being usurped?” Enjolras needled as everyone snapped to follow Combeferre’s orders.

            “Sorry,” came the sincere (if amused) response. “Just thought you could use as much relief from leadership over us as possible today. You’ve got the public to deal with, after all.”

            “Well I’m glad it’s at least you who’s stealing my authority, if it must be stolen. Way to jump the gun. Otherwise Courfeyrac may have taken it and the booth would be on fire within the hour.”

            “You don’t do me justice.”

            Enjolras jumped at the voice in his ear and Courfeyrac grinned wolfishly.

            “You know I’d have it down in minutes. Don’t doubt my chaos-making skills, Enjolras. I am entropy made flesh.”

            Combeferre smirked. “You know, entropy as a scientific term encapsulates the notion that all matter is accelerating towards massive galactic heat death wherein every atom in the universe flies apart into sea of what is essentially seething nothingness. Do you really want to be that ‘made flesh’?”

            “Well, when you put it that way…”

            Chuckling, Combeferre gripped Courfeyrac by the shoulder and led him towards the truck, motioning for Grantaire and Jehan to follow.

            Enjolras turned back to the booth, grabbing a hammer and strategizing the placement of Grantaire’s paintings.

            Within another half hour, everything was set. The booth was steady, the artworks were hung, and the water was boiling. During that time, Eponine, Marius, and Cosette had arrived and now were waiting with the rest of the workers for Enjolras to speak.

            “Okay,” he said from behind the counter. “We’re finished with setup. Now, I’ve drawn up a rotation for today. I’ve slotted us all in as groups working four hour shifts. Combeferre, Grantaire, and I will be here until noon, when Marius, Cosette, Joly and Bahorel will take over. Thank you for volunteering, Cosette, your help is invaluable.”

            She curtsied gracefully and smiled at Combeferre when he handed her a cup of tea. Enjolras cleared his throat.

            “So those four will be here until... four, and then Eponine, Courfeyrac, and Jehan have the last shift until 8. Any questions?”

            No one piped up.

            “All right, then. Good work this morning. You’re all free until it’s time for your shift. Go ahead and wander. Spread the word.”

            He clapped his hands together and stepped back, effectively disbanding the group. But no one moved. There was some shuffling of feet and Enjolras coughed.

            “Guys. You’re blocking the booth.”

            “Sorry!” It burst from a fidgeting Jehan. “We just want to see the first customer.”

            “Oh.” Enjolras glanced around at the small area they’d been granted. “Well, okay. But we can’t all fit back here and move.”

            “We don’t have to move!”

            Grantaire laughed merrily at Jehan’s bright and entirely serious claim. “But we can’t scare our potential customers off with all nine of us staring at them.”

             Courfeyrac scoffed. “We’re far too pretty to be scary.”

            “Exactly. We’re intimidating. Three people of our standard is already pushing it.”

            “Your boys’ vanities know no bounds.”

            “You’re one to talk, Mr. I-was-late-because-I-couldn’t-find-the-right-hairspray.”

            “Oh, you know very well I-“

            “Clear out.”

            Enjolras’ commanding voice cut through the good-natured bickering. “We have interested parties at 9 o’clock. I don’t care where or how far you go, just unblock the booth.”

            There was a brief sweep of muttering before the group dissipated seamlessly into the crowd. The three teens Enjolras had seen eyeing their sign (they’d hung Grantaire’s ‘mural’ over a smaller square that bore their logo) walked up to the counter, a bold-looking redhead in the lead. Her gaze locked onto Enjolras' standing tall behind the center of the counter. He nodded to her.

            “Good morning.”

            “Morning,” she returned. And then, leaning back on her heels, “so, you sell tea?”

            “That’s right,” Enjolras replied, sensing another incoming question and refraining from saying more.

            The girl frowned, gesturing to the paintings. “Then what’s all this about?”

            “Well, originally we started as a group of activists in college. We decided when we graduated to put our combined skills to work to make a profit for the causes we believe in. Tea brewing just happened to be something we could all contribute to. We still work towards all of our former goals, now we just have a revenue with which to do so better.”

            “Okay,” The girl folded her arms, gaze switching between Enjolras and the paintings. “So what causes do you support?”

            Enjolras handed her a pamphlet. “There’s a full list of charities, causes, and parties we support in there. One of our biggest concerns right now is nationwide human rights and equality. We also try to find groups against domestic violence, poverty, and of course government tyranny and all it entails.”        

            The girl was quiet or a stretch as she skimmed through their brochure. Then she looked up, peering for a few seconds before cracking a smile.

            “Well the name makes sense now.” She glanced down at the list again. “So, HRC, NoH8…” A half-serious smirk. “I don’t suppose you’re a straight ally?”

            Enjolras shook his head, “Not at all, sorry.”

            He glanced to Grantaire as he said it and she caught the look, her features softening noticeably.

            “Oh, I see. Well, good. Now.” She put her hands on the counter, looking over the bags set out there. “I’m a bit of an addict, so if your stuff’s good you’ll be seeing a lot of me. So what’ve you got?”

            At that, Combeferre stepped forward. He’d make it a point to memorize their entire catalogue and now took her through it, discerning her taste and suggesting different blends. She ended up with samples of their three top sellers and two different types of chai, plus a hot cup of Jehan’s new Lady Grey. As Grantaire was ringing her up she folded their pamphlet and stuck in it her pocket, smiling.

            “Thank you guys, And not just for the tea – you’re doing a good thing.”

            Enjolras nodded briskly. “It’s our duty and pleasure.” He extended a hand. “I’m Enjolras, by the way.”

            The girl beamed at him as she shook his hand. “Enjolras. Lovely to meet you. My name’s Musichetta.”

            “Well, Musichetta, we hope to see you here again.”

            She sniffed as she was gathering her purchases, taking a last hard look at the booth.

            “Count on it.”

 

* * *

 

 

            “Our duty and pleasure?”

            Grantaire was cackling as they strolled through the lower levels of Pike’s Place. “Sometimes I swear you’re moonlighting as a historical porn star.”

            “I spoke only the truth, Grantaire; you needn’t be so childish about it.” Enjolras stuck his hands in his pockets, staring down the mass of people around them.

            “Did you know that you get formal when you’re embarrassed?” Grantaire hooked his arm around Enjolras’ elbow and held tight. “I think it’s adorable.”

            Enjolras just huffed and Grantaire let the matter drop. They walked for awhile, wandering into a couple stores. Grantaire picked up a new pen and then had to bodily drag Enjolras away from an overpriced Marilyn Monroe autograph in the same store (and wasn’t that a surprise).

            ( “She’s the most renowned feminist of our time!”

            “Admit it. You just like pink.” )

            They ended up at a diner on the second level for dinner.

            “Breakfast served all day. We are eating here.”

            Enjolras relented and they entered the small but spacious restaurant, getting seated right away as only a few of the tables were full. Five minutes later they had water, menus, and a basket of fries on the table.

            “Quick service,” Grantaire said, impressed. He snagged a fry and bit into it then quickly spit it onto his plate. He coughed and sipped at his water. “Hot. The fries are hot.”

            Somewhere between exasperation and amusement, Enjolras just rolled his eyes.

            “Well, they are steaming, and they did just bring them out – you might want to use a little reason next time.”

            “Never.”

            The waiter returned to take their orders and when he was gone Grantaire planted his elbows on the table and leaned in.

            “So I’m a little bit in awe of how easily you left the booth earlier. We only had to deal with a little kicking and hardly any screaming at all.”

            “One leads by example. If I expect all of my workers to follow a schedule, I can’t deviate from it just because I want to.”

            “You know, when most people want to deviate from a schedule, it’s because they want to work less, not more.”

            “Most people meaning you?”

            Grantaire sat back, eyeing the waiter as he passed by with another table’s food.

            “No, most people meaning most people. As in, most of the general populace who don’t suffer from a work addiction.”

            “It’s not a work addiction. It’s a passion for our causes.”

            Their meals came then. Grantaire was grateful for the timing. He loved watching Enjolras rant about injustice, but dinner was not the time for politics. It was the time for food, and if there was something Grantaire could get passionate about other than Enjolras, it was eating.

            Unfortunately, at only the seven-minute mark of their meal, Grantaire’s cell rang. He groaned and pulled it out of his pocket, thumbing the answer key and putting it to his ear with a quiet sigh.

            “Whoever this is, you are interrupting my dinner and thereby making me seem very rude, so I hope this is important.”

            “Grantaire!” Eponine’s excited voice burst from the phone’s small receiver and the addressed almost threw the device.

            “Eponine, though I appreciate your enthusiasm, my ears do not.”

            “Sorry! I just – there’s a customer here who’s asking about you.”

            “Me? What do you mean?”

            “Your paintings! He wants to buy one!”

            Grantaire sat up a little straighter at that, causing Enjolras to give him a quizzical look.

            “Oh – well I – they’re kind of – they’re part of the booth, aren’t they? I mean… can he take one?”

            “Hey, it’s your artwork. But if you’re worried, ask Enjolras. He’s with you, isn’t he?”

            “Well… yeah. Give me a second.”

            He covered the bottom half of the phone. Enjolras lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

            “Um, so apparently someone is interested in buying one of my paintings. But they’re kind of a part of the booth, and I don’t have any more in that series to replace it with.”

            “We’ll figure the aesthetics out,” Enjolras answered almost immediately. “It’s your art, Grantaire. Of course you can sell it.”

            The phone was ignored for a moment as Grantaire just stared at Enjolras, eyes bright. Then he uncovered the speaker.

            “Okay! So, um… I’ve always been there in person to settle the price… Have they made you an offer?”

            At this point Grantaire had been relaxing back into his chair, but at Eponine’s answer, his full-body jerk shook the table. As it is, he was grateful he hadn’t been eating, because he would have choked. Enjolras nearly did and he hadn’t even heard the number.

            “Come again?” Eponine repeated the figure and Grantaire paled. “You know what, tell them I’m coming up. I’ll be five minutes.”

            He hung up and stood, searching for their waiter. His plate was hardly half empty and Enjolras’ was even fuller, but he was digging out his wallet and pulling his jacket on anyway.

            “God, we have to wait for the check, don’t we? We aren’t even on the right level.”

            Enjolras, now standing as well, put a calming hand to Grantaire’s arm.

            “Hey. Listen. You go to meet them. I’ll get the bill and come up afterwards.”

            “Oh, you’re a lifesaver.” Grantaire dropped his wallet into Enjolras’ hands and pressed a firm kiss to his lips before all but sprinting out of the diner.

 

* * *

 

 

            Grantaire barreled onto the top floor of the market and towards their booth, painfully aware that it was the fifth minute since he’d gotten off the phone.

            The stall came into view along with his friends and a tall, thin man standing there in front of them. He looked a bit like a professor with his trimmed white hair and tweed jacket.

            Struggling to make himself some sort of presentable, Grantaire slowed ot a walk and patted at his hair. Jehan noticed him and said something to the buyer that caused him to turn towards the artist.

            Grantaire quickened his pace again and was soon grasping the man’s hand.

            “Afternoon, son,” he greeted. “The name’s Thompson.”

            “Grantaire,” the painter returned, struggling to breathe normally.

            Thompson nodded at him. “I must say, my boy, I have been captivated by your work. It’s some of the best I’ve seen in months, I asked your friends who they’d commissioned and was pleasantly surprised to hear that their own artist had provided these striking pieces.”

            “Well… thank you, sir, that’s… that’s very flattering.” Grantaire scrubbed a hand through his hair, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I just wanted to capture what we’re standing against.”

            “And for, if I’m interpreting correctly,” Thompson said, gesturing to the long work above the sign.

            Grantaire nodded. “You are. Yeah, that’s ones a little different.”

            “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part ways with it?” Thompson had a hand in his pants pocket, gaze still on the painting.

            “That one?” Grantaire winced. “I’d really rather keep it around.”

            Thompson dipped his head, smiling kindly. “Of course. I understand. What about the others, then? They are all available?”

             “Sure,” Grantaire replied. “To be honest, I didn’t even really thing about sales here. I painted them with the organization in mind, but if you want one we can definitely work something out.”

            “I believe your friend passed on a figure I mentioned to you.”

            “Yeah. I, um. Yeah. Heh.” Grantaire coughed, pushing his shoulders back. “Sorry. It’s just that I don’t usually get offers that high. Well actually, I don’t ever get offers that high.”

            Thompson shook his head. “Then everyone has been cheating you, my friend. These are masterful, and I would know.” He paused, looking pensive. “I’ll tell you what. I’m the curator of a new gallery downtown. We’re celebrating our opening in a months’ time with a gathering of works by emerging local artists and I’d like you to feature.”

            He reached into his suit jacket and procured a business card, which he then presented to a shell-shocked Grantaire.

            “Give me a call when you can to work out the details. Will you be able to have a collection of, say, four paintings by then?”

            Forcing his mouth to close, Grantaire nodded dumbly.

            “Wonderful. Now.” Thompson turned back to the booth. “I would very much like to take this one off your hands.” He pointed a long, elegant finger towards the depiction of a dirty, young blonde girl crouched in an alleyway. “I will give you $700 for it, and you will accept it without question because I have paid far more for far less.” 

            It took only a second for his words to fully register, and then Courfeyrac was scrambling to get the painting down while Jehan was making Thompson a complimentary tea and Eponine was texting everyone in ecstasy.

            Grantaire could only stand there, caught in a mist as Thompson handed over his check and took the painting and his tea.

            Reality filtered back in quickly when the man turned to leave with a nod goodbye. Grantaire stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and returned the quizzical glance he got with a half-apologetic smile.

            “Sorry. I just – thank you. Really.”

            Thompson chuckled. “Oh no, my boy. Thank you.”

            He held their eye contact for a moment more before breaking it, nodding to the business card still clutched in Grantaire’s hand. “Don’t forget about that opening.”

            And then he was gone.

            Eponine was immediately climbing out of the booth and descending on Grantaire with a hug and an excited squeal. Jehan hung back a bit but gave him an enthusiastic congrats. And Courfeyrac couldn’t seem to shut his mouth.

            “Holy shit, man. I mean, holy shit. Did that just happen?”

            Then suddenly arms were encircling Grantaire’s waist and a familiar pair of lips were on his. Enjolras pulled back after a breathless moment, looking at Grantaire with joy in his eyes.

            “You deserve all of it, you know.”

            “I… you heard?”           

            “I was over there,” Enjolras admitted, looking amused as he tilted his head towards a spot a few feet away. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

            Grantaire lifted the card to his eyes, face incredulous. “I can’t… this is insane.”

            “Don’t forget us all when you become the next Michelangelo,” Eponine teased happily.

            “Forget you?” Grantaire’s eyes widened comically as he turned to her. “You’re all much too freakish to ever forget.”

            “Awww, you do care.”

            “What’s all this about Grantaire becoming famous?”

            Joly appeared from out of the crowd, Cosette, Marius, Bahorel and Combeferre close behind him.

            “Eponine said something about a gallery?”

            “Yeah.” Grantaire brandished the business card. “This guy came by who’s apparently the curator of a new art gallery downtown. He saw my stuff and, uh, really liked it,”

            “Liked it is a bit of an understatement!” Eponine laughed. “That check in your pocket says he’s kind of in love with it!”

            Bahorel slipped his phone away, lifting a brow. “Check? Oh!” He looked back at the booth, clapping a hand to his temple. “He took one! Bought one – with the girl, yeah?” He sidled towards Grantaire. “So how much did you get for it?”

            “Bahorel!” Cosette chided. But Grantaire waved her off, shaking his head fondly.

            “Um, 700. Yes, dollars. He – he was really enthusiastic.”

            “700? Damn, Grantaire!”

            “This calls for a celebration!” Courf chimed in from behind the counter. “Soon as we’re outta here, man. We’ll get you a cupcake or something. Or actually, you can get us cupcakes, since you’re rich and famous now.”

            Jehan leaned out of the booth to grab Grantaire’s hand. “Don’t listen to him. I saw a lovely vegan bakery on the corner that’s open late.”

            It was still almost an hour and twenty minutes until they officially closed, so they all hung about for a little while until it Enjolras decided to call it a day and they headed to the bakery. Enjolras and Combeferre lagged behind, the latter pecking away at a calculator and the other with a thick notebook in his hand with numbers scrawled all through it.

            They piled into the cute, brightly-colored bakery and pushed three tables together after glancing inquisitively at the friendly staff. Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and Jehan headed to the counter to order what would no doubt be way too many sugary treats.

            They were there only a few minutes before Enjolras shouted triumphantly and everyone turned to look at him. Combeferre set the calculator on the table with a satisfied smirk.

            "Everyone?" Enjolras began, drawing himself up. "We've officially made a half month's profit in one day."

            There was a cacophonous swell of hollering. The three men at the counter broke into an impromptu dance, alarming the register worker, who had to dive in to save the tray she'd piled high with their purchases, now wobbling precariously on the counter edge.

            "Half a month! We are fucking _golden._ They can't stop us now!" 

            Everyone started talking excitedly after Bahorel's exclamation, and the chatter only increased when Grantaire and Jehan set the weighted-down platter of pastries and candies they'd carried from the counter in the midst of their rowdy group. Grantaire snagged a handful of cream puffs and mini nanaimo bars and slid over to Enjolras' side, hooking a stray chair with his foot and pulling it over to sit on.

            Enjolras reached for one of the chilled treats held in Grantaire's grip, but the artist pulled it away with a mischievous smirk.

            "Hey, these are mine."

            Enjolras lifted an unimpressed eyebrow, saying nothing, and Grantaire laughed.

            "I might be... convinced to give you one."

            The blonde glanced to the side at their distracted group of friends before answering. "And what might be needed to convince you?"

            Grantaire set his claimed pastries on a napkin, idly rolling one beneath his fingers. "I'll give you this one..." He flicked the puff aside and pushed forward a messy fudge bar. "If you eat _this_ one at home... Off of me."

            Enjolras coughed, subtly readjusting his shirt collar. Meeting Grantaire's gaze, he reached over and snagged the proffered cream puff.

            "Sounds fair."

            He leaned close to Grantaire and bit deliberately into the dessert, taking inordinate pleasure in the way the painter's pupils expanded as he subconsciously wet his lips.

            "Damn. Success makes you horny."

            Enjolras was about to say something he'd either really regret or revel in for the rest of his days, but unfortunately Courfeyrac chose that moment to intervene.

            "Hey! Lovebirds! No pornos in public!"

            Grantaire laughed (and if it was a little choked, no one commented), turning towards their antagonist.

            "Coming from you, Courf? That's rich."

            The dark-haired man grinned slyly. "Touche, monsieur. But we've just had a rousingly successful day and considering that and your newfound fame, who knows who may be watching? We've got a public image to think about!"

            At that, Enjolras gasped. "Press! Combeferre, press!"

            Grantaire watched his Apollo ascend from earthly realms again and rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Courfeyrac. Really. I owe you one."

            "Your sarcasm hurts me."

            In response, Grantaire lifted a finger. There was a burst of laughter and general conversation was reignited.

            They stayed there in the bakery past closing, but the staff didn't mind so much as they were continuously paying for more food. It was only when the clock was approaching ten and the display cases were approaching emptiness that they finally stood and started filing out. They waved to the bakers and shouted hearty goodbyes, and Grantaire left a napkin on which he'd drawn an intricate sketch of the building on the table (along with a hefty tip).

            As they were walking down the sidewalk to their various cars, yelling farewells to each other, Grantaire caught Enjolras' hand in his and squeezed.

            "So, just so you know, half of the check in my pocket belongs to Liber-Tea."

            "What?" Enjolras tried to pull away but Grantaire held tight.

            "Shut up. I painted all of the works specifically for the organization - for the booth - and it would be fairer to give you the whole thing but then you'd probably hack into my bank account and put it back, so. This way we both win."

            Enjolras chuckled, shaking his head. "Okay. Thank you."

            As they were climbing into Enjolras' car, Grantaire glanced over at the now-quiet Pike's Place, biting his lip.

            "It..." He looked down, fingers twisting together. "It seems like this might... y'know, actually do something."

            Enjolras turned towards him, hand falling from the key that he'd been putting into the ignition.

            "Did I just hear you support our cause?"

            "No," Grantaire insisted, gaze on the buildings down the street. "I'm just saying that you might make some money here. Whether or not you choose to keep wasting it on selfish, lying campaigns is up to you."

            "We don't support any campaign groups," Enjolras replied automatically. Then he smiled, shaking his head. "If our resident cynic is admitting change we must be on a good path."

            "Or maybe I've just been replaced by a shapeshifting mutant who's been sent to kill you."

            Enjolras just pulled into the street, reaching over to lace his fingers into Grantaire's. "Things are good. We're growing. We can start publicizing ourselves. Just watch - people are going to take notice."

            "That's great. But right now we really need to get home." Grantaire prodded at the napkin in his hand, wincing. "Or this is going to melt before we can have any fun."

            Enjolras scoffed, but the car sped up.

            "I'm serious, though, Grantaire. This is really good. I mean, you've got a _gallery deal,_ we've got a profitable booth. We're going to need some new hires to keep both it and the loft running but everything's coming into view. We're going to be able to make some really good change."

            Grantaire sighed. "Yeah. Of course." He leaned into Enjolras' side, nuzzling at his jaw. "I'm not disagreeing. I'm just saying... let's celebrate."

            Enjolras had nothing more to say to that, and at the next stoplight he turned to kiss Grantaire, and the city around them was full of promises.     

 

      

           

 


End file.
